


Calamities I: Geonosis

by Mengde



Series: Sith Apprentice: Darth Venge [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Sith Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7154021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mengde/pseuds/Mengde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon has Jango Fett take him to Geonosis to confront, and hopefully save, his old Master.  Venge brings the rest of the Conspiracy from Coruscant to back him up.</p><p>Nothing goes as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Spire

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Re-Entry Official Timeline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/913029) by [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower). 



> The next entry in the Venge series is here! Thanks continue to go to flamethrower for originally creating Venge in her Re-Entry series.

**Four Days Ago**

Qui-Gon gazed out the viewport of Jango’s ship, _Slave I,_ at Geonosis.

“Ugly kriffing rock,” Jango muttered from the pilot’s seat.

“Yeah.”  The speaker was Boba, a nine- or ten-year-old clone of Jango, and apparently the Mandalorian’s son.  He sat in the copilot’s seat, looking very focused and dangerous despite his youth.

“What are those grey striations around the equator?” Qui-Gon asked.  “Mountains?”

Jango snorted.  “You wish, _jetii._ They’re _factories._ ”

Qui-Gon had no idea of the manufacturing capabilities of facilities visible from space, but he expected they boded ill for the Republic and the Jedi.

“Dooku keeps his HQ in what the locals call the Spire,” Jango said.  “Northern hemisphere, near the Sea of Glass.  Yes, the name’s accurate.”  He angled _Slave I_ in on an approach.  “Not that it’s really an option, but this is your last chance to tell me you’ve changed your mind and for me to ignore you.”

Qui-Gon smiled faintly.  “Thank you, but I must do this.  The Force is calling me here.”

“ _Dikut’la barve,_ ” Boba said.

“My son’s rude, but he has a point.  You Jedi listen to the Force for _shabla_ everything.  What if it’s telling you to go somewhere and that leads to your death?”  Jango’s tone was hostile, but his Force signature said _curious_ and even _a little worried._

Qui-Gon shrugged.  “There is no death; there is the Force.  Death is a natural part of our existence, and the next stage of our journey.  If I’m to die here, I will not shy away or refuse to accept it.”

Jango sighed.  “That’s almost _Mando_ of you.  Color me surprised.”  He shook his head.  “I meet a _jetii_ I might be able to respect, and I’m giving him to the CIS.  Life’s funny.”

Boba laughed.

* * *

The Spire was aptly named: an enormous rock formation, the size of a Coruscant cloudpiercer, which towered into the sky.  It was riddled with cave entrances, steam vents, landing platforms, defensive weaponry, sentry posts, everything a factory-fortress needed.

“Spire Control, this is Fett,” Jango spoke into the comm.  “Here with a prisoner for Count Dooku.”

Qui-Gon felt a shiver run the length of his spine at his former Master’s name.

A bizarre cacophony of hoots, warbles, clicks, and whistles spewed from the comm unit.  “Roger,” Jango said, angling _Slave I_ toward a landing platform near the top of the Spire.

Qui-Gon watched the view from the cockpit quickly become vertical as the ship settled on its long aft section.  He remained standing, the ship’s grav projectors keeping his relative “down” in the direction of the floor.

“All right,” Jango said.  “Gonna need your lightsaber and your hands behind your back.”

Pulling his lightsaber from his belt, Qui-Gon handed it to Jango before turning around and calmly placing his hands in the small of his back.  He felt the cold, slightly electric sensation of a pair of stun-cuffs being slipped onto his wrists.  “These have a trick to them,” Jango said.  “Normally, you pull three times hard, they hit you with enough current to put you out.  These, though – they disengage.”

“Do you take false prisoners often?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I keep these on my belt.  If someone gets the better of me and puts me in them, they’ll have a surprise coming.  I keep my good ones in my right boot.”  There was the sound of a blaster sliding from its holster.  “Alright.  Boba, stay here.  If anyone but me tries to board the ship, take off.  Go back to Kamino.  Skirata will take care of you until I get back or I’m confirmed dead.  _Elek?_ ”

“ _Elek, buir._ ”

“Good boy.  I love you.”

“I love you too, _buir._ ”

Qui-Gon kept his gaze straight ahead, not wanting to intrude on what might be Jango’s final moments with his son.

When Jango spoke again, his voice buzzed through his helmet’s speaker.  “Okay.  Let’s go.”

A blaster in his back prodded Qui-Gon forward, through a gravitic-discontinuity room, which aligned them with planetary “down,” and out through _Slave I_ ’s ramp.  Waiting for them were several insectoid creatures Qui-Gon took to be Geonosians, as well as at least a dozen Trade Federation battle droids.

One of the Geonosians stepped forward, a long, sharp-tipped staff in its hands.  It leveled the staff at Qui-Gon’s throat and said something in its hooting, warbling language.

Jango shot it in the face.

“ _I_ take the Jedi to Dooku,” he said into the sudden, tense silence as the insectoid smoked on the ground.  “Do we have a problem?”

As one, the rest of the Geonosians scurried out of the way.  The battle droids quickly followed suit.

Qui-Gon let Jango prod him forward again, into the Spire.  They passed through corridors of metal and stone, filled with chittering and hissing noises, as well as the hum of distant machinery.  The lighting was dim and inconsistent.  There was the distinctive feeling of walking through _capillaries_ rather than corridors.  It smelled of dust and moisture and oil.

“Cheery place,” Qui-Gon observed.

“No talking,” Jango snapped.  He leaned in and said, barely a whisper, “The walls literally have ears.”

Indeed, Qui-Gon saw – many of the walls were not walls at all, but literal fortifications made of hibernating Geonosians, crammed into grotesque configurations of limbs and heads and twitching wings.

He closed his eyes as he walked, reaching out with the Force.  The Spire was full of life, but it wasn’t life as he understood it.  There was no sense of individual _consciousness,_ but a kind of gestalt mind that dealt mostly in sensation rather than concepts.  Dwelling beneath the surface were three overriding urges: _find, kill, feed._

And at the top of the Spire…

_It has been a long time._

All at once, they were there.  They stood before a massive metal door, their movements disturbing motes of dust visible in the single shaft of light illuminating the chamber.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and stepped deliberately forward.

An invisible seam in the center of the door parted, and it swung inward.  Piercing daylight streamed through the opening, momentarily blinding him.

When he regained his vision, he saw he was in a huge, circular chamber, open to the outside, its walls nothing but a series of pillars supporting a massive domed roof.  Unlike the pillars and roof, which were made from rough, red, unfinished rock, the floor was a black stone, polished to a reflective sheen.

At the far end of the room was a throne, made from the same black stone.

Count Dooku rose slowly from the throne, his cloak rippling about him.  “Welcome, my old apprentice,” he said, the words booming unnaturally loud in the open space.  “I have been expecting you.”

“Master,” Qui-Gon said calmly, bowing his head.

Dooku’s gaze shifted to Jango.  “You will be compensated for bringing him,” he said.  “You may go.”

“Hang on,” Jango said.  “You and I need to speak, Dooku.”

“About what?”

Qui-Gon gave three sharp tugs on the cuffs and felt them give.  In one smooth motion Jango slapped his lightsaber into his hand and drew on Dooku.

“Galidraan,” Jango said.  “The Sith.”

Even from across the space of the throne room, Qui-Gon could see Dooku’s mouth curve into a cruel smile.  “Someone has been telling you things, Jango.”

Qui-Gon ignited his lightsaber.  “I do not want to fight you, Master,” he said.  “But I will, if necessary.  Come back to the Jedi Temple with me.  Talk with Master Yoda.  Whatever has driven you away from the Order, whatever hold the Sith have on you, we can counter it.  We can make things as they should be.”

There was a deep, hollow, mechanical laugh.

“Oh, but things _are_ as they should be, my young Jedi.”

Qui-Gon whirled, bringing his saber up, but there was no attack.  There was merely a tall, spindly figure, emerging from behind one of the pillars to his left.

_Hego Damask._

“Darth Plagueis,” Qui-Gon said.  “I regret to inform you that I have been unable to locate the Vigilante Jedi.”

Plagueis snorted.  “An interesting statement, Master Jinn, since you were on Kamino with him only three days ago.  I suspect he has returned to Coruscant to summon reinforcements.  Your friends are no doubt on their way.”

“Did the Force summon you here, Qui-Gon?” Dooku asked, laughter in his voice.  “Did you feel that you were guided here to save me?  How little the Jedi know of the Living Force.  How easily they dance on our strings.”

Qui-Gon felt his stomach lurch.  “No.”

“Venge will go to Coruscant,” Plagueis said.  “He will bring the rest of those who know the truth, as you clearly do.  They will come to save you.

“ _And they will all die._ ”

Qui-Gon made to leap at him, to try to kill him before he could draw his saber, but his limbs suddenly refused to work.

“What did you tell the boy Anakin, when he asked what made him special?” Plagueis asked mockingly.  “Did you explain the symbiosis of the life-forms within our cells?  Because it is not, in fact, a symbiosis, Qui-Gon.  The Jedi, the Sith, are all slaves to the will of the Force.  Bound to it by the midi-chlorians within their blood.  All except for me.”

Against his own will, Qui-Gon felt his eyes move in their sockets to look down at his hands.  He watched his thumb press against the activation switch of his lightsaber, extinguishing the blade.  His gaze swiveled to his left, to Jango, and showed him the bounty hunter stiffly returning his blasters to their holsters.

“Now you understand, my old apprentice,” Dooku said, the sound of his voice telling Qui-Gon the other man had moved to stand at his right side.  “Lord Plagueis has mastered the energies of life and death, order and entropy.  Join us, and you too can command this power.”

Qui-Gon’s head turned, bringing Dooku back into his line of sight.  His former Master grinned at him, his eyes burning gold.

He looked very well-preserved for a man of more than eighty years.  In fact…

“Yes,” Dooku said.  “I am learning more every day.  Let me teach you again, Qui-Gon.  Let us be master and apprentice again, as Sith.”

There was a clanking sound as Jango fell to his knees.

“I,” Qui-Gon forced out, “will never serve the Sith.”

Plagueis chuckled.  “ _Never_ may be a long time, Qui-Gon, but we have perhaps four days before your friends arrive.  I have the Force, and I have patience, and I have you.

“Four days will be more than enough.”

Everything went black.


	2. Reconciliation, and an Unexpected Guest

Padmé keyed the hyperdrive of her personal yacht and watched the starfield elongate, then burst into the mottled blue of hyperspace.  Even with a point-seven drive, Geonosis was just over four days from Coruscant.  Time was critical, but now there was nothing more they could do but wait.

“Have you ever gone extravehicular in hyperspace?” Ben asked.

She turned to look at him.  Intellectually, she knew that he wasn’t Ben, he was Venge – but she liked Ben more.  Still, there was no denying that he looked incredibly dangerous in his black robe, leather vest, and tall boots, a lightsaber on each hip.

And she liked dangerous.

“No,” Padmé replied.  “Have you?”

“On my way to Tatooine to – well, to find you and take you back to Naboo – I had to make an unscheduled drop out of hyperspace.  By the time I jumped back in I had Togorian pirates on my hull in pressure suits.  So I got my own suit on and went EV.”

Padmé felt herself shudder a little.  “One wrong step and you would have been lost in hyperspace.”

“An unpleasant notion, but less unpleasant than letting them tear open my hull and space me.”  Ben leaned back in the co-pilot’s seat.  “It was incredible.  Outside the ship, with no compensators or artificial gravity, your senses simply don’t know how to process the inputs they’re receiving.  What we ‘see’ in hyperspace isn’t actually light; we’re moving faster than it can.  You no longer visually perceive your environment, but you can _feel_ it with your eyes.  Like looking at something is the same as running your hand over it to determine its contours and texture.  And its color.  Have you ever _felt_ the color blue?”

“No,” Padmé said slowly.  “But right now I’m feeling the need to talk, while we have the cockpit to ourselves and we haven’t been killed by the Sith yet.”

With a snort, Ben inclined his head.  “Fair point.  So.  You first.”

Padmé scowled.  Yes, it did make sense for her to go first, since she’d brought it up.  But part of her had hoped he might volunteer.

“I’m not sure where we stand,” she said.  “I haven’t been since that morning on Coruscant.”

“I’m standing precisely where I’ve been for weeks.  My involvement in this whole conspiracy is certainly due in part to self-preservation, but the larger part is due to you.”

She tilted her head in question.  “Me?”

Ben nodded soberly.  “I may respect the other members of our little conspiracy – I even approach liking one or two of them – but you’re the only one I care about.  My feelings still haven’t changed.  I… I need you.”

That made Padmé frown.  “And what if I decide that I don’t return the sentiment anymore?  Where does that leave you?  Will you abandon us?”

“No, obviously not.  I’m not Anakin.  I understand that my needing you does not mean you need me.”  Ben paused to reflect for a moment.  “Though he seems to have grown since last I saw him.  But regardless.  My participation isn’t contingent on your sharing my feelings.  It’s not even contingent on our having sex!  I _am_ generous, aren’t I?”

Padmé rolled her eyes.  “If by ‘generous’ you mean ‘at the baseline for acceptable adult behavior.’”

Laughing, Ben raised his hands in a submissive gesture.  “Fair enough.  So, there.  I’ve said my piece.  What about you, Padmé?  Where do you stand?”

There it was.  She had no more time to try to internally hash out what was going on with her feelings.  So she opened her mouth and said the first thing that came to mind.

“I don’t trust you.”

To his credit, Ben didn’t look angry, hurt, even surprised.  He just nodded, expression grim.  “You really can’t, can you?”

“No,” Padmé said, piecing her thoughts together.  “I can’t.”

“And without trust –”

“We were never destined to marry and be one another’s _jíai_ ,” Padmé continued.  “It’s a Naboo term.  No proper Basic translation.  Like ‘completion,’ but without the implication of incompleteness without it.  And, obviously, it’s romantic.”

“I grasp the concept.”

“But I don’t have to marry you or trust you to care about you.  And, frankly, to still want you.”  Padmé laid a hand on his knee.  “So long as we’re clear that this is never going to be about the long term, and that it doesn’t preclude either of us being open to other relationships – I still want this.  And if that’s not enough for you, I want to at least still be your friend.  There’s good in you, Ben.  Even if you’re not a good person.”

He shook his head, and for a terrible moment Padmé thought he was going to say it wasn’t enough. “I think you’re wrong about there being good in me,” he said.  “But your terms sound quite acceptable.”

Padmé sighed.  “And if one of us finds someone, and they need us to be solely with them?  It’s easy to say that the right person wouldn’t care, but it doesn’t always work that way.  It’s not wrong or selfish to need that.”

“Agreed,” Ben said.  “If one of us comes to that point, I’m confident the other will have the maturity to step away.  To let it go.  To not wound anyone _too_ heavily.”

She laughed, relieved, the tension bleeding out of her.  “Thank you, Ben.”

“Thank _you._  But –” he hesitated, just for an instant – “it really is Venge.  No more lies.”

Wincing, she still nodded.  “All right.  That’s going to take an adjustment period.”

“I’m willing to be patient.”

A thought occurred to her, a realization.  “I forgive you, B – Venge.”

Venge frowned at her.  “You’ll need to be specific.  There’s a lot to –”

“For Panaka.”  Padmé took a deep, slow breath.  “It was wrong and evil and cruel to kill him, and you’re going to bear that responsibility for the rest of your life and into the next.  But I know you’re trying to make up for it.  Maybe that’s not what you tell yourself, when you think about why you’re helping the Conspiracy.  I’m flattered you say I’m the reason.  But I’m choosing to believe you’re doing this because you know it’s the right thing to do, and I’m an easy face to put on the right thing.

“What’s important, though, is that you’re _trying._   You genuinely are.  So.”  She took his hand for a comforting squeeze.  “I forgive you.  For my sake, not his.  You’ll still have to make peace with him on the other side of the River.”

Venge nodded.  “I – thank you.”  He returned the squeeze.  “So.  What do we do now?”

Padmé pressed a control to seal the cockpit door.  “Ever had sex with a Senator in the cockpit of her personal starship?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

He grinned.

“Yes.”

* * *

Seated in the passenger lounge of the yacht, cuddled up to Anakin on a long, low couch, Dormé observed, “They’ve been in the cockpit for a while.  It’s not like they need to be there while we’re in hyperspace.”

Anakin shrugged fractionally, not wanting to disturb her head from leaning on his shoulder.  “Talking, probably.”

On the other couch in the lounge, Siri gave an indelicate snort.  “Right.  Do you not know that hyperspace-cockpit-sex is some of the best sex?”

“You have done extensive research?” Maul asked.  He was seated on the floor, cross-legged, apparently meditating.  Both he and Siri had on large gold medallions reading TEMPLE COMBAT COURSE MASTERS.  They had so far steadfastly refused to take them off.

Siri made a vague gesture.  “I was undercover for quite a while, you know.  There were some things you had to do to fit in.  And some things I’d always wanted to do, but never could as a Jedi.  And sometimes these were the same things.”

That made Anakin grin.  “Okay, fair.  Guess they made up, huh?”  Less than a month ago, the thought would have driven him to rage.  Now –

He looked down at Dormé, nestled into the crook of his arm.  Now, he was in a better place.

“That way, it would seem to be.”

Anakin froze, his blood running cold.  No, it wasn’t possible.  It wasn’t –

Yoda, Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, slowly made his way through the doorway to the yacht’s droid bay, his gimer stick tapping gently against the floor.

“Anakin,” he said, looking amusedly at the Padawan and Dormé.  “Doing well for yourself, I see you are.”

Dormé flushed scarlet and came to her feet to curtsy.  “Master Yoda.  I – it is an honor.  We –”

Yoda held up a hand to stop her.  “Afraid, you need not be, madam.  To punish anyone, here I am not.  Speak to you all, I would.”  He glanced significantly in the direction of the cockpit.  “Our friends in the cockpit, as well.”

Maul, who had shown great restraint in not leaping to his feet at Yoda’s unexpected appearance, got to his feet.  “I will get them.”

“Maul,” Siri called as he marched toward the cockpit.  “I don’t think they’re done!”

“It is fortunate that I do not care, then,” he called back.

Anakin was still trying to find his voice.  There was a series of loud knocks, raised voices, exclamations.  A minute later, Maul reappeared, a flushed and embarrassed-looking Padmé in tow.

Venge came behind her, sabers drawn but not ignited.

Turning to them, Yoda nodded to Padmé.  “Senator Amidala.  Apologize, I do, for the interruption.”  His gaze moved to Venge.  “Lord Venge.”

“I never did actually make Sith Lord,” Venge said.  “Though I will admit to liking the sound of the title.  How are you here?”

Yoda’s lips quirked in a smile.  “Small, I am.  Easily do I go unnoticed.  And notice, _I_ do, when the Chosen One comes to the Temple, and leaves with two of my best Jedi.  To go to none know where.  Without an explanation.”  His right ear twitched.  “Unless forthcoming, an explanation is?”

“An explanation, such as how you managed to get onto this ship without three Jedi and a former Sith noticing?” Venge asked pointedly.

The little green Jedi sniffed.  “For eight hundred years have I managed wayward users of the Force.  No special challenge do the four of you present.”

“Master Yoda,” Padmé interjected.  “I am sorry that we haven’t told you what’s going on.  But we can’t risk the Jedi Council finding out –”

“That our Chancellors, Sith Lords are?”

There was absolute, perfect silence for a very long moment.  Then Anakin finally found his voice.

“You _know?_ ”

Yoda frowned mightily.  “Something wrong with the Council, there is.  And to see Chancellor Damask, all of them have been.  Unofficially.  A fact which conceal from me, they tried to.  The only one who has not had the honor, I am.  Then, find three of my Jedi and an upstanding Senator in collusion with a former Sith, I do.  Foolish, I am not, my young Padawan.”

“We are on our way to Geonosis,” Maul said.  “Qui-Gon went there from Kamino, where Master Sifo-Dyas apparently commissioned a clone army for the Republic ten years ago.  Qui-Gon believed the clone army was financed by Hego Damask, and Jango Fett – the source for the clones – told him that he was recruited by Dooku, on the grounds that the army would help destroy the Jedi.  Or so Venge has reported to us.”

“Mmmmmm.”  Yoda glanced back at Venge.  “Away put your weapons, Venge.  I mean you no harm.”

“You’ll pardon me if I choose to hold on to them.”

The Grandmaster gave him a positively chilly look.

“Help you they would not, if harm I intended you.”

Padmé put a hand on Venge’s shoulder.  After a tense moment, he reluctantly holstered the weapons.  “Yes.  Maul’s outlined it well.  We’re going to Geonosis because it’s apparently where Dooku – Darth Tyranus, nowadays – is making his lair, and Qui-Gon got it into his kriffing head to go there with Jango to try to save him.”

“Mm.”  Yoda seated himself with a small hop on the couch next to Siri, who so far had not moved or said a word.  “Go to Kamino, I must.  Investigate this army, I will.”

“I’d advise against using that army,” Venge said.  “Anything designed to help destroy the Jedi probably isn’t a weapon you should be using.”

“Noted, your opinion is.”  Yoda poked Siri in the side with his gimer stick.  “Still alive, are you, Jedi Tachi?”

Siri nodded, looking numb.  “I talked in a very loud voice about having hyperspace cockpit sex while the Grandmaster was in the next room over.”

“Yes.  Difficult not to laugh, it was,” Yoda chortled.  “That mission, I never approved of.  Turned out well in spite of it, you have.  Glad I am.”

Much to Anakin’s surprise, Siri – shameless, bold, Siri – blushed and bowed her head.  “Thank you, Master.  That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Welcome, you are.”  Yoda looked back at Padmé.  “Drop me at Mon Calamari, you may, Senator.  Transport to Kamino I will arrange from there.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to come with us to Geonosis?” Anakin asked.  “We could use your help, Master.”

“To Kamino, the Force is leading me,” Yoda replied.  “What awaits on Geonosis is for all of you to face.”

Anakin leaned forward.  “Have you seen a vision of the future, Master Yoda?  Do you know what’s waiting for us?”

Yoda’s face fell.  “Pain, young Skywalker.

“Pain, and harsh choices.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to do my due diligence here and say that the term "jíai" is from my best friend's fantasy novel about autistic elves, for which she has constructed her own elf language. "Jíai" is a term for a romantic partner of either gender with no direct translation to English, but no deeper concept attached to it like Padmé gives it here. She's submitting to a publisher and multiple agents; when she gets published I will mercilessly push her stuff on tumblr!


	3. Bottom of the Dark

They had dropped Yoda at Mon Calamari.  They had taken the most direct route to Geonosis, taxed the hyperdrive, shaved every second they could.

But now Geonosis hung in space before them, and Venge felt more than a little hesitant.

“What?” Padmé asked, looking at him from the pilot’s seat.  “You look like you’re going to throw up.”

“Insects,” Venge said shortly.  “During my early training I was taken to the Carrion Plateau on Eriadu.  I survived there for three months, off the land.  But one evening I was caught in my sleep by a swarm of Maricopa septoids.”

Padmé visibly shuddered.  “I am so sorry.”

“As am I.”

“You’re going to be all right, dealing with the Geonosians?”

“I’m not going to enjoy it.  But they’re going to enjoy it less if it comes to a fight.”

Padmé gave his arm a squeeze.  “Remember, we’re here under diplomatic auspices.  We want to see if we can find Qui-Gon and Fett without starting a war.”

Venge nodded mechanically.  “It’s a solid plan.  I simply have a bad feeling about this.”

With one last sympathetic look at him, Padmé turned to activate the comm unit.  “Geonosis air and space control, this is Senator Padmé Amidala of the Republic, here in my capacity as an official diplomatic liaison.  I need to speak with His Excellency Count Dooku.”

Her hail was immediately answered by a burst of chittering and screeching which raised Venge’s hackles.  “Please repeat?” Padmé asked.  “Your language is unfamiliar to me.”

“We should have borrowed Shmi’s housekeeper droid,” Venge muttered.  “Doesn’t it have protocol functions?”

“I don’t want to have to wipe some poor droid’s memory to protect the Conspiracy,” Padmé said as the comm unit continued to squawk incomprehensibly.  “They have feelings, you know.”

“So do I, and right now they mostly revolve around having Geonosis _put someone on the comm who speaks Basic,_ ” Venge said loudly in the direction of the receiver.

There was a muffled noise, and a moment later a stiff, artificial droid voice spoke. “Senator Amidala, restate your purpose here.”

“To speak with His Excellency Count Dooku,” Padmé said.  “Regarding a political matter of some sensitivity.”

A long minute passed in silence.  “Senator, landing coordinates are being transmitted to you.  Place your ship on autopilot and follow the flight path we give you.  Deviation from it would be dangerous and could trigger the automatic defense systems.”

“Understood.”  Padmé keyed in the autopilot, leaning back in her seat with a sigh.  “Well.  We’re committed.”

“We were committed ever since Qui-Gon got the foolish notion to come here with Fett,” Venge growled.  “Having spent the better part of a decade keeping an eye on Dooku, I could have told him the man is a lost cause.”

“And he wouldn’t have believed you.  This is something he had to do for himself, Venge.”  She smiled at him.  “You’re living proof that Sith aren’t necessarily irredeemable.”

Venge made a face.  “Padmé, you’re very sweet, and despite myself I find it utterly endearing.  But you _don’t know the Sith_.”

Her smile faded.  “I don’t want to.  Not the way you do.”

“No.  You really don’t.”  Venge got to his feet.  “I’ll bring our illustrious companions up to speed.  Make sure they’re ready to enter the Sarlacc pit, and all that.”

“Thank you.”

As Venge moved to go, Padmé suddenly reached out and caught his arm.  “Promise me something, Venge.”

He tilted his head.  “What do you want me to promise?”

Padmé locked gazes with him.  “That you won’t go back to the Sith.  We need you here.”

“‘We’ need?” he asked teasingly.  “Or do you mean ‘you’ need?”

Her grip tightened.  “Promise me.”

Sensing her trepidation ringing through the Force, Venge placed his hand atop hers.  “I promise, Padmé.  I won’t go back to them.”

“Even if they try to use me against you,” she insisted.  “If they try to use me as leverage, burn them.  Expose them.  Yoda said the Council might be under their influence already – that means we have nothing left to lose.  You understand?”

Venge nodded gravely.  “I do.  I swear it.”

Padmé let go of his arm.  “Thank you, Venge.”

“You’re welcome.”  He let go of her hand in turn.  “All right.  Here we go.”

The yacht swept down into the atmosphere of Geonosis.

* * *

The _dikut’la shabuire_ hadn’t even put him in a force-shielded cell.  It was plain metal bars.

Jango studied the construction of the bars.  Durasteel, cross-reinforced, an inch thick.  He wasn’t going to be able to bend or break them with anything he had in the cell – namely, his clothes, which were all he’d been left by the Geonosians, and the folding blade he’d stowed in the one place he was confident the bugs wouldn’t check.

After all, they didn’t even have rectums.  They had cloacae.  And not in the same place.

He retrieved the knife in the corner of the cell where his captors had placed the fist-sized hole for the necessaries.  If there were cams, it was likely he just looked like he was taking care of bodily functions.  Then he stood next to the bars, and screamed as loud as he could.

He clutched his gut, bent double, the knife concealed in his left sleeve.  It didn’t take long for one of the drones to investigate.  The thing clicked an inquiry as it approached, shock lance raised threateningly.

“My stomach!  I’m bleeding!” Jango yelled at it.  “Get me some kriffing help!”

The drone disappeared back down the tunnel.  Jango continued the act, not knowing if there were cams and not wanting to take the chance.

A minute later, the bug reappeared with two friends, as well as a Two-Onebee medical droid.  “You are bleeding?” the droid asked.

Jango nodded.  He showed the droid his right hand, which was covered in blood from the cut he’d given himself along the line of his ribs.

The Geonosians chittered to themselves.  One of them stepped forward with a large, clunky-looking key.  He released the lock to Jango’s cell.  The door swung inward to accommodate the Two-Onebee.

As the droid trundled into the threshold of the cell, blocking the door from closing, Jango moved.

He slammed his left shoulder into the droid, charging out through the cell door with the hapless clanker as his shield.  It bowled over one of the Geonosians.  Jango brought up his left hand, knife unfolding, to ram the blade up though bug number two’s right eye socket into its diminutive brain.  The creature dropped.

The last standing Geonosian had a split second to stab Jango in the chest with its shock lance, but it didn’t.  It was too surprised, millennia of survival instincts telling it _freeze, hide,_ when it needed to do precisely the opposite.  Jango fired a snap kick into its thorax, caving it in.  It fell to one side, twitching like a malfunctioning droid.

Jango snatched the shock lance from its grip even as it fell, then buried the double-tipped spearhead in its face.  He twisted, freed the weapon, and repeated the motion with the final Geonosian as it started to extricate itself from beneath the Two-Onebee.

He moved quickly.  First he retrieved his knife.  Next he fished through the protesting medical droid’s supply compartment for bacta patches, slapping one onto his chest where he’d cut himself and filling his pockets with more.  He also took other medical supplies: laser scalpel, anesthetic dermapads, gauze, adrenal sharps.  The nice thing about stuff like this was that he could use it to keep himself alive, or in a pinch he could kill an enemy with any of it applied a certain way.

Lastly, he took the Two-Onebee’s commlink before switching the droid off.

He was going to find his armor, his blasters, and an escape vehicle.  And then, if he was feeling _very_ generous, he’d see if he could grab the _jetii_ on the way out.

Jango crept off into the depths of the Spire.

* * *

A black protocol droid waited for them as they exited the ship.

Venge glanced around at the landing pad they’d been directed to. It jutted out of the side of an enormously tall rock formation.  From what they’d been able to see on the approach, they were landing near the top.

“Greetings, Senator Amidala,” the droid said in cool, modulated tones.  “I am C4D7, human-cyborg relations.  I am here to show you to Count Dooku.”

Padmé, looking quite regal with the addition of a white cloak to her stolen jumpsuit, nodded at the droid.  “Of course.”

C4D7 scanned Venge and the rest of the contingent with its golden photoreceptors.  “Your companions will have to wait here.”

“No,” Anakin and Venge said at the same time.

The droid rocked back slightly on its heels.  “If you insist on accompanying the Senator, you must disarm.”

“No.”  This time, Siri’s voice added to the chorus.

C4D7 made an anxious motion.  “You _cannot_ go in armed as you are.  If you are a diplomatic detachment –”

Padmé held up a hand.  “We are.  But one of our companions has already gone missing within this place, if this is where Count Dooku lives.  We are only interested in self-defense.”

The droid looked pointedly at Dormé.  “ _That_ is for self-defense?”

Slung across the slender young woman’s back was a truly enormous reciprocating-fire quad-barreled repeating blaster, or _cip-quad_ in military parlance.  It had its own microrepulsors to help alleviate its twenty-kilo weight, and it drew power from a backpack generator.  She had steadfastly refused to reveal where she’d been keeping the weapon aboard ship, to say nothing of where she’d actually managed to obtain it.

Dormé looked sternly at the droid, seeming almost comically small next to the weapon.  “It is.”

“We will see Count Dooku exactly as we are,” Padmé said, her voice pure steel.  “The question is whether you’ll be taking us to him or not.”

After a moment of transparent consideration, C4D7 bowed at the waist.  “Please follow me.  His Excellency may make the final decision himself.”

The droid led them into the structure.  Venge kept a hand on his Sith saber, casting his gaze about the stone-and-metal tunnels.  Multiple walls were covered in twitching masses of hibernating Geonosians, which made his skin crawl.  He could feel the legs and pincers of the septoids as if they’d attacked him yesterday.

“Stay calm,” Maul said quietly.  Venge threw an annoyed look over his shoulder; for his part, the Zabrak looked irritatingly unconcerned.

“Insects,” Venge muttered.  “I have a phobia.”

“That sucks,” Anakin said, completely sincere.

They did not speak again until the droid halted before a massive, black door.  It produced a commlink and spoke into it.  “Your Excellency, the guests are here.  But they are armed.”

“Of no consequence,” a deep and familiar voice replied from the commlink.  “See them into the antechamber.”

C4D7 moved to a control panel to the right of the door.  It keyed in a code Venge quickly memorized, and the door ground open.  “This way, please,” it said.

The antechamber was vast, dimly lit, and utterly bereft of any features save a line of pillars along the side walls and another door at the far end.  It was made entirely from the same black stone as the door.  Venge felt like he’d stepped into a yawning cavern made of night.  Illumination came from glowlamps embedded in the floor behind the pillars.

“Please wait here,” C4D7 said primly as they walked inside.  “His Excellency will be just a few moments.”

The door slammed shut behind them, echoing in the vast hall.

“It’s amazing how big they made an antechamber,” Siri observed.  “And yet they left it completely empty.”

“Insect psychology,” Maul said.  “For drones and lower caste workers, there is no such thing as space.  They live and work in extremely close quarters.”  He gestured around.  “The important ones use the space as a status symbol.  Trappings are immaterial.”

“You give them a lot of credit with a word like _psychology_ ,” Venge said darkly.

Padmé gave him a _look._   “That’s very speciesist of you.”

“Have you ever met a Geonosian archduke?  I did business for Sidious with one, years ago.  One of his drones got its leg caught in an automatic door.  Broke the limb.  He told the other drones, according to the protocol droid I had with me, to ‘dispose of it.’  Which they took as permission to kill and eat their fellow.”  Venge glared.  “And I’ll not go into too much detail about a mission I performed on Colla IV.  Suffice it to say I had a partner who bared his throat by mistake, and I was weeks washing him out of my robes when the Colicoids were done with him.  I’d dislike insectoids even if I weren’t phobic.”

Padmé’s features softened.  “You’ve never met any of the placid insectoid species?  Vratix, Verpine?”

“No.  And I’d rather not.”

There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind.  Something seemed off.  He refocused; Anakin was saying something.  A need for silence suddenly gripped him – a premonition.

“Anakin, shut up!” he snapped.  “Something isn’t right.”

The Padawan gave him a dirty look, but did as instructed.  In the sudden silence, Venge’s Force-enhanced hearing picked something up.

The hiss of escaping gas.

“It’s a trap!” he snarled.  “The room’s rigged.  They’re going to gas us.”

Siri swore feelingly.  “We don’t have enough rebreathers!”

“We need to get out of here,” Padmé said, pulling the blaster from her hip.  “Can we do anything with those doors?”

Anakin was already sprinting across the room to the doors at the far end.  “Maybe I can hotwire these!”

“I’ll try the ones we used to come in,” Dormé said, moving to the control panel.

“Try the code oh-four-five-one,” Venge called.  “It’s what the droid used.”

Anakin reported, “No good!  Panel’s been deactivated.”

“Move,” Maul said brusquely to him.  He had his lightsaber in his hand, but rather than igniting it he opened a panel along the hilt.  He withdrew the diatium power cell, quickly disconnected it from its leads, then yanked the control pad off the wall.

“Everyone to that side!” Padmé ordered.  Venge glimpsed Dormé abandoning the entry door and hustling without apparent effort, the cip-quad bouncing against her back.  Siri had already taken up position behind Anakin and Maul, saber in hand, ready if the door opened unexpectedly.

By the time Venge reached the far side of the room, his vision was beginning to flicker around the edges.  There was a coppery taste in his mouth.  He recognized both as signs that they were being dosed with strenthazine, a paralytic.  He wasn’t sure if he wished it was lethal instead.

Maul had quickly wired the diatium cell into the panel, with Anakin’s help.  The buttons lit back up as he completed the circuit.

“Nothing,” Padmé said after she entered the code.  “They must have changed it.”

“No, we changed it by removing its power connection and then restoring it,” Anakin said quickly.  “It probably thinks there was an outage and it’s on emergency power.  That means it’s back to defaults.  Try all zeroes.”

“No good.”

“Try all fours or all eights,” Venge said.

Padmé did, then gaped as the door began to open.  “How –”

“Geonosians have four digits on each hand.  Lucky guess.  Come on!”

They bolted through the door, Maul retrieving his power cell and reinstalling it even as they ran.  As Venge had suspected, there was more corridor on the other side of the so-called antechamber.  It was full of droids and bugs.

Six lightsaber blades hummed to life as the four Jedi ignited their various weapons.  Dormé unslung the cip-quad from her back, the microrepulsors glowing as she balanced it on her hip.

“Surrender!” one of the droids shouted.

Padmé’s blaster bolt took it in its spindly neck.

Venge hurled himself into the mass of droids and Geonosians, sabers whirling, red and blue blades turning aside blaster bolts and sending dead bugs flying.  The Dark Side sang through his blood, hotter than fire, burning away any lingering strenthazine in his system.  He could sense Anakin just behind him, catching what little he left in his wake, while Maul and Siri stuck close to Padmé and Dormé, turning aside blaster bolts rather than diving into the melee.  He spared a glance over his shoulder and could see why – Dormé was unloading the cip-quad into the other side of the corridor, raking the multiple streams of fire across rank after rank of foes.  The cip-quad fired so rapidly it looked almost like it was spitting a single, unending beam with flickers in the cohesion packaging.

Within ten seconds they had cleared the corridor.

“There’ll be more,” Venge said, giving a dying Geonosian a savage kick to the head for good measure.  “Do we abort, find a way back to the ship?”

“No!” Anakin protested hotly.  “We’re not leaving without Master Qui-Gon!”

“Agreed,” Padmé spoke up.  “Leave no one behind.  Can you sense where he is?”

Anakin closed his eyes for a moment.  “Up,” he said.  “Far up.”

“Then we go up,” Maul stated, emphasizing his words with a casual saber flourish.  “These defenses are not worth a mention.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Venge warned him.  “We’ve yet to see any destroyers.  And I’ve heard rumors about a new ultra-droid series called MagnaGuards.  We should be cautious.”

Dormé punched in a command on the cip-quad’s small control screen.  “My sonar ping shows an upward-sloping corridor in this direction.”

“What _can’t_ that gun do?” Anakin asked appreciatively.

“Precision,” Dormé replied with a mischievous smile.  “Shall we?”

They worked their way up the corridor, burning down Geonosians and droids as they were presented with them.  Dormé let the Force-users do most of the work, conserving the cip-quad’s charge.  In the tight corridors of the rock formation, the lightsabers were almost irresistible, and the droids and bugs could not bring numbers to bear.

It quickly became apparent, however, that Venge’s estimation of their landing site’s proximity to the top of the formation had been badly skewed by the sheer scale.  By his estimation, they spent the next half hour fighting their way through four kilometers of corridor in their quest to ascend ever higher.

“Wait,” Anakin called as Venge advanced past a massive metal door, about the same size as the one which had led into the rigged room so many stories below.  “This is it.  He’s behind here.”

“You’re sure?” Padmé asked, snapping another shot off at a droid covering behind a corner.  The bolt caught it in the head as it leaned out to fire at them.

“He’s right,” Maul said.  “Master Qui-Gon is behind these doors.”

Venge let his eyes fall half-closed, reaching out with the Force.  Qui-Gon _was_ definitely somewhere past this door.  Qui-Gon, and –

“He’s not alone,” he said.  “Dooku’s there as well.  And at least one other, but he’s hiding his signature too well for me to tell who.”

“Sidious?” Siri asked.

Padmé shook her head.  “When we left, he was in closed negotiations with the Ralmiri.  But Damask had been gone for days on unspecified business.”

“Then it must be Plagueis,” Maul said.  “Very well.  If Master Qui-Gon is fit to fight, we focus on getting him armed and we consider a battle.  If not, we perform a tactical withdrawal.  We cannot fight two Sith while trying to protect a noncombatant.”

Siri frowned, but there was no arguing with his logic and she knew it.  “Agreed.  Ready?”

They all nodded.

There was no obvious control mechanism for this door.  Venge examined it with the Force, found that it was actually two doors with an invisible seam between them.  They were unlocked.

He slammed them open with a Force push.

This was a throne room, no mistaking it.  There were no walls, just a series of pillars supporting a domed, rounded roof and empty space beyond.  The floor was the now-familiar black stone, as was the throne at the far end.  In the throne sat Hego Damask, and to his right stood Dooku.

On the floor, in the center of the room, knelt Qui-Gon, his back to the entrance.  His head was bowed, his hands on his knees.  He could have been meditating.

“Senator,” Dooku said, voice booming unnaturally through the room.  “I apologize for my uncooperative guards.  You and your companions insisted on meeting me while armed, and they take exception to the notion.”

“I take exception to being gassed,” Padmé called back, her voice quiet and small compared to his.  “Whether they’re cooperative or not, that’s a poor way to treat guests.”

“Venge,” Plagueis spoke before Dooku could.  “I am relieved to see you are in good health.  It would be unfortunate if you exposed us to the Jedi.”

Venge snarled.  “You’re very close to that, Plagueis.  Let Qui-Gon go and I’ll let you keep your secret.”

Plagueis inclined his head in a graceful nod.  “Of course.  Master Jinn, you may go.”

Qui-Gon didn’t move.

“Master, get up!” Anakin shouted.  “Let’s go!”  Nothing.  The young man glared at Plagueis, his anger burning white-hot in the Force.  “Why isn’t he moving?  What are you doing to him?”

“I am doing nothing.  Master Jinn is free to go if he wishes.”  Plagueis smiled at Qui-Gon.  “Do you wish to?”

Qui-Gon stood smoothly, coming to his feet in a single motion.

“No.”

Venge felt his stomach churn.

Qui-Gon turned to face them, his lightsaber suddenly in his hand.  His eyes burned a bright and terrible gold.

“I am Darth Ghūl,” he said, igniting his weapon, “and I do not wish to go anywhere.”


	4. Everything Goes to Hell

Venge felt his stomach clench.  “How?” he growled.  “How did they turn you so quickly, you kriffing idiot?”

Qui-Gon – no.  The thing in front of him, grinning at him with the Dark Side burning in his eyes, wasn’t Qui-Gon Jinn.  He was Darth Ghûl.

_Ghûl_ shrugged.  “Is it so hard to believe?” he asked.  “Were you that personally invested in my being able to resist the lure of the Dark Side?”

“Yes!” Anakin cried from Venge’s right.  “Of course we all were!  You – you’re my _Master,_ Qui-Gon.  And Maul’s!  You taught us so much, how could you have let this happen?”

“I defer to the expert in these matters,” Ghûl said, taking a long step to his right to clear their sight-line to Plagueis.

Plagueis leaned forward slightly in the throne.  “It’s really quite simple, my young Jedi,” he said, voice buzzing mechanically through the transpirator affixed to his face.  “All of your convictions, your morals, your memories, the very foundations of your personality – all of them are nothing more than sparks, flickering across the synapses in your brain.  These tiny sparks are controlled by the coding of your cells.  And within those cells…”  He gestured broadly.  “How many midi-chlorians does each of _your_ cells contain, Chosen One?  Twenty thousand or so?  I can sense them from here.  I can _touch_ them from here, if I so choose.  So is it any surprise what I could do with four days of uninterrupted time with your former Master?”

“You brainwashed him,” Maul said, his voice quiet and lethal.

That made the Muun laugh.  “What you call brainwashing is like to taking a hammer to a master’s sculpture.  _My_ process is far more precise.  Chisels, rather than hammers.  Scalpels, rather than cleavers.  And in the end, the result is far more beautiful than simple brainwashing.  He remembers his life as Qui-Gon Jinn.  He remembers you and young Skywalker, and his deep and abiding love for both of you.  But now his highest goal is service to me, and the Sith.  And he will take a deep and thorough pleasure in the pain he causes you by opposing you.”

Dormé strode forward, leveling the cip-quad at Plagueis.  “I’ll ventilate you for this,” she said.  “Lightsaber or no, let’s see you deflect five hundred bolts a minute.”

The Sith Lord spread his hands, holding them to either side.  “By all means, you may try.”

Nothing happened.  Venge risked a glance at Dormé, who had a look of intense concentration on her face.  “What are you kriffing well waiting for?” he snapped.

“I can’t pull the trigger,” Dormé said, her face turning ashen.  “I’m thinking of nothing else and my finger just won’t move.”

Venge reached out with the Force, but Plagueis deflected the attempt with a casual flick of his fingers.  “There will be none of that,” he said.

It actually took Venge by surprise when Padmé snapped up her blaster and fired at the Muun.  Ghûl leapt into the air, saber whirling, and deflected the shot into the ground.  He landed easily, eyes blazing.  “I wouldn’t try that if I were you.”

“He can’t control all of us,” Venge shouted.  “Rush him!”

Everything went to hell.  All the Jedi charged at once, Dooku and Ghûl moving to meet them.  Venge hurled himself in a Force leap at Plagueis, knowing he would never make it but determined to play his part of the offensive.  However, it was not Plagueis’s power that stopped him, but Dooku; he rose into the air, cape billowing, to slap Venge down with the Force.

Anticipating the blow, Venge landed on his feet.  Dooku touched down a moment later between him and Plagueis, crimson lightsaber hissing to life.  “So,” Dooku said gravely.  “It has come to this.”

“Get out of the way, you useless old man,” Venge snarled.  “You were a failure as a Jedi and now you make for a pathetic Sith.  Stand aside or I’ll kill you and spit on your corpse.”

Dooku sneered.  “Brave words for a traitor and coward.”

Venge wasted no more time on words.  He sprang, full force, lightsabers blurring into a Makashi attack sequence.  His blades came in at opposing angles, high and low, left and right, forcing Dooku to defend against multiple vectors with his single blade.

But the Jar’kai did not faze Dooku.  He deflected Venge’s attacks with slight movements of his arm and wrist while stepping expertly through a series of defensive movements, positioning himself in the way of the blows he blocked and avoiding the ones he let go.  He retaliated with blindingly fast cuts and jabs, working within the miniscule openings of Venge’s sequence to disrupt his tempo.  To his chagrin, Venge found himself giving ground to avoid being stabbed.

“Two blades make the wielder overconfident,” Dooku laughed.  “You do not realize it, but Jar’kai does nothing but give you twice as many blind spots!”

His speed somehow increased even more, the curved lightsaber a blazing crimson storm battering relentlessly at Venge’s defenses.  The man was not even using two hands and he was dominating their exchanges.

Venge let his anger grow and fester, drawing on it for the power and alacrity he needed to match Dooku.  He momentarily disrupted the older man’s offensive with a blast of Force power, then re-engaged on his own terms, using a different Makashi sequence modified to use his Tràkata.  His blades flickered in and out of existence a dozen times in less than ten seconds, never adhering to a rhythm or pattern.  Now Dooku gave ground, but his retreat was controlled, his defense and footwork flawless.

“Tràkata,” he scoffed.  “A tool of dabblers and dilettantes.  Do you know what your problem has always been, Venge?”

“Wasn’t aware I had one,” Venge quipped, drawing deeper on the Force.  He was pushing Dooku back, meter by meter, toward the edge of the room, where nothing but stone pillars and empty air waited.  If he could just get Dooku trapped there, where the man wouldn’t be able to use his blasted footwork –

Dooku scowled.  “Precisely.  All your tricks, your careful techniques designed to baffle and confuse, they are all to cover up one thing.”

His lightsaber suddenly blurred, locking against Venge’s Stygium saber.  A roll of Dooku’s wrist, a twitch of his curved hilt, and the saber went flying out of Venge’s grip.

“They are to disguise your utter _mediocrity_ ,” Dooku hissed, his free hand coming around to blast Venge full in the chest with Sith lightning.

He actually blacked out for a moment from the pain.  He _was_ fortunate enough to slam into one of the stone pillars rather than fly out into empty space, which jarred him back to consciousness.  With a supreme effort of will, Venge landed on his feet, quick-drawing his other Sith saber from within his robe and activating it.

Glaring at Dooku, preparing himself for another round of a fight he was almost certainly going to lose, he saw something in his peripheral vision.  Behind Dooku, stepping out from behind Plagueis’s throne –

_That’s impossible._

* * *

“He can’t control all of us,” Venge shouted.  “Rush him!”

Maul saw the former Sith hurl himself at Plagueis, only for Dooku to intercept him.  He made to charge himself, but his sensitive ears picked up on the sound of droids coming up the hall behind him.

He looked at Padmé and Dormé.  “There are droids coming,” he said.  “Can you handle them?”

Dormé nodded.  “Leave it to us.  I doubt Damask will use his power to stop us from shredding his droids.  He seems focused on Anakin and Siri.”

Indeed, Maul noted, those two had made straight for Plagueis, maneuvering around Venge and Dooku, and Ghûl had made no move to stop them.  He simply stood there, lightsaber humming, looking at Maul.

“Very well,” Maul said.  “Thank you.”  He briefly placed a hand on each of their shoulders, then turned and strode toward Ghûl.

“You can stop this now,” Maul called to him.  “Rejoin us.  The Dark Side does not have to dominate your destiny, Master.”

Ghûl grinned.  “You heard Lord Plagueis.  I have no desire to return to the Jedi.”  He raised his saber.  “I remember all our time together, Maul.  Toward the end of our partnership, I remember the sense of being measured, of you wondering which of us would prevail in a true duel to the death.”

“I did wonder that,” Maul said.  “I never thought to find out.  And I regret that we are about to.”

He leaped at Ghûl, opening with a falling whirlwind attack which his former Master dodged rather than blocked.  Maul landed in a half-crouch, coming in low with a sweeping series of slashes designed to disrupt footwork and deal nonlethal but crippling wounds if they connected.  Ghûl kept up with him, blocking the strikes before transitioning into a jump over Maul’s head.  At the apex of the move, feet pointed at the ceiling, he tried an upside-down slash which would cut Maul’s skull in half.

Throwing himself to the ground to dodge the strike, Maul then kipped up in a whorl of limbs and lightsaber blades, spinning like a deranged top and foiling any attempt Ghûl made to get within attack range.  Ghûl summoned a Force blow to throw off Maul’s defenses, but the Jedi summoned his own power into a shield, following it with a flying kick.  Ghûl grunted as the kick landed, staggering him; however, he still managed to get his saber up to deflect Maul’s follow-up cut at his right arm.

They stood apart, unmoving, for several seconds, as both reevaluated their strategies and opinions of the other’s defenses.  “I trained you well,” Ghûl observed.  “Though I think you deserve as much of the credit as I do.”

“You trained me to be resourceful, to be resilient, and to be tenacious,” Maul said.  “You provided the foundation for everything that I am.  I take no pleasure in having to use it to try to kill you.”

Ghûl grinned evilly.  “You said yourself that you are a killer.  Admit that you take some pleasure in it.  That you enjoy matching yourself against your old Master in a genuine contest of life and death.”

Maul said nothing, but blazed into action again, blades thrumming.  He spun his weapon in a bizarre and unpredictable orbit around himself, forcing Ghûl to either give ground or to try an attack against a defense that was impossible to read.  Ghûl chose the latter, going for a leaping overhand power strike from the right as Maul’s blades spun to his left.  Maul sprang into a handless somersault to evade the blow, landed, reversed into an ultra-fast series of left-right staccato strikes.  Ghûl blocked the first few before backflipping away.

“Familiar!” Ghûl barked.  “Don’t you have anything new?”

Maul’s only reply was to let the last barrier within himself give way.  He let the training he’d undergone with Mace Windu take over, and tapped into Vaapad.

Instantly, a red haze fell across his vision.  The power of the Force exploded in his chest, his anger energizing him and empowering him.  He reached out and felt the anger burning in Ghûl, the Dark Side roiling with him, and he touched it too, accepting it and preparing to use it to his advantage rather than fight it.

“Prepare,” Maul said.

He attacked, lightsaber blades forming a solid wall of light, smashing against Ghûl’s defenses.  He was a force of nature, an uncompromising and merciless storm, primal and elemental and possessed of a single-minded desire to destroy his opponent.  Ghûl retreated before the onslaught, defending furiously to keep Maul from landing any blows.

But he was older than Maul, and tiring.  Maul came in low, slashing up at Ghûl’s chest.  Ghûl caught the attack on his blade, but with a sudden burst of effort and Force power, Maul pushed his saber up in an explosive clash against his former Master’s.  The move opened Ghûl’s guard for the merest fraction of a second.  The Zabrak seized the moment, slamming the pommel of his lightsaber into his enemy’s chin.

Every instinct screamed at him to deliver the fatal blow, to stab his foe through the chest.  His allies needed him.  He could not let this fight drag on.

He remembered, suddenly and with an almost violent clarity, a scene from childhood: an enormously tall human he did not know, stepping between him and the other younglings who had been teasing him.

_“My name is Qui-Gon Jinn.  I am the one who brought you here from Dathomir.”_

“Weak,” Ghûl mocked, and brought his hand up in a Dark Side-empowered punch to Maul’s face.

He felt his nose break, his jaw pop; his vision blurred.  He instinctively somersaulted away, spinning his blade in a defensive pattern to ward off any attacks while he was temporarily blinded.  Maul blinked the pain away, sight returning.  Ghûl was making no attempt to close the distance between them – he merely stood there, still grinning.  Maul took advantage of the lull to reset his nose.

“You could have killed me,” he observed.

“And you could have killed me,” Ghûl said.  “But your hesitation came from weakness.  Mine came from the desire to torment you.  My purpose is to cause you and yours pain, Maul.  Whether that comes through the physical pain I inflict upon you, or the mental pain you suffer when you kill me, my purpose is fulfilled.”

Maul sucked air through his teeth, readying himself for another exchange, but then he noticed something: a figure, stepping out from behind Plagueis’s throne, to confront Anakin and Siri.

_How in the nine Hells is that possible?_

* * *

Anakin charged toward Plagueis, Siri at his side.  Ghûl made no move to intercept them, which was fine by him; he had no desire to fight his Master.  He figured that they could tie up the Muun while Venge and Maul dealt with Dooku and Ghûl – whatever _dealt with_ meant, he didn’t want to think about it – and Padmé and Dormé covered their backs.

But as he and Siri came to a halt in front of the throne, sabers humming, Plagueis made no move to stand and fight.

“Are you going to do anything?” Anakin demanded.  “Or are you going to die in that chair?  I don’t have a problem with killing an unarmed Sith Lord.”

“I am hardly unarmed, my young Jedi,” Plagueis said with a dry laugh.  “The Force is my ally.”

Siri scoffed.  “That little paralysis trick you used on Dormé won’t work on two trained Force-users, Plagueis.  Either get your lightsaber out or we’re going to cut you down right here and now.”

“Are you?” Plagueis asked, leaning slightly to the side and crossing his legs.  “Are you really?”

Anakin realized with sudden panic that no, he could not actually move a muscle.  He stood there, locked in place, and with mounting horror he watched his saber arm come up to hold the glowing blade to Siri’s throat.  She stared at him with wide, frightened eyes.  “Anakin, what are you doing?”

“It’s not me!” he gasped.  “It’s Plagueis!”

“Do you understand the limits of your small powers, boy?” Plagueis asked.  “If I actually desired your death, you would already be dead.  So would this young woman, though I foresee more use for her as a disciple of the Dark Side than a corpse.”

“We’ll find a way to beat you,” Anakin growled.  “You’re not invincible.”

“Perhaps not, but I am beyond your current capacity to harm.  I made you, _Chosen One._   I know the scope of your abilities.”

Staring at Plagueis, Anakin said, “What the hell are you talking about?  I was conceived by the Force, Qui-Gon told me so himself.”

Plagueis laughed, the transpirator making the sound harsh and hollow.  “Yes, but you were conceived by the Force in retaliation against me, after I attempted to bring a being into existence through my influence over midi-chlorians.”

“You’re lying,” Anakin growled, tightening his grip on his lightsaber in a futile gesture to move it from Siri’s throat.

“No,” Plagueis said, “it is quite true.  To put it simply, Anakin: I am your father.”

For a moment, Anakin’s voice utterly failed him.  When he finally summoned the presence of mind to speak, he only managed, “That’s – that can’t be true.  It’s impossible.”

“There’s no way you could use the Force to create life,” Siri said.  “It’s been tried.  There’s an entire section of the Archives that explains when, and how, and why it’s a terrible idea.”

“It has been tried by _Jedi_ ,” Plagueis said haughtily.  “No Jedi has ever possessed the breadth of knowledge about the Force that I do.  I created many beings, mundane creatures of no intellect, from nothing but cultured cells and the midi-chlorians within.  This boy was the first attempt I made to create a Forceful being by the same method, and by any reasonable definition he was a failure.”

Anakin felt his stomach start to twist itself into knots.  “What do you mean, _first attempt?_ ”

Plagueis’s eyes crinkled in a smile, though his transpirator hid his mouth.  “It was merely a matter of refining the process, after we discovered that my first attempt _did_ result in a Forceful being – and of unusual potential, as well.  The Kaminoans and their accelerated cloning process helped a great deal.”  He raised a large, spindly hand and crooked a finger.

The world seemed to go absolutely still.  He felt, beneath his feet, the grinding of some hidden mechanism.  A moment later, a figure emerged from behind Plagueis’s throne.

Anakin stared into his own face.

The man in front of him looked just like him, but his features were twisted into an evil smile, and the Dark Side blazed in his eyes.  His skin was pale, almost waxy, the veins visible beneath the flesh.  His hair was long and wild.  He wore the dark cloak of the Sith.

“This,” Plagueis said, “is Darth Vader.”


	5. Pain

“You cloned me?” Anakin asked, dumbfounded.

Plagueis nodded.  “The Force naturally resists any attempt to clone a being with enough midi-chlorians to make it Force-sensitive.  With my guidance, however, the cloning tanks produced, ten years ago, your clone – with some alterations to the genome.  The accelerated maturation is of course key, but he is also utterly loyal, less independent, and physically enhanced.  Denser bones and musculature, improved reflexes, a higher healing rate.  He is the perfect weapon.”

Vader grinned fiercely at the praise.  “We no longer need him, Master,” he said.  His voice was lower, harsher, than Anakin’s, and he spoke with a refined Coruscanti accent similar to Dooku’s.  “Let me kill him for you.”

“Peace, Vader,” Plagueis said.  “We may wish to use him for more cloning stock, and I certainly desire to study him more closely in my laboratory.”

Suddenly, Anakin felt strength flow back into his limbs.  He could move again.  He felt Siri stir beside him as well.

“Maim them,” Plagueis ordered Vader.  “Show me your skill.”

Vader bared his teeth in savage joy, the expression uncomfortably familiar to Anakin.  The Sith reached behind the throne and withdrew a long, silver staff.  At the end of its two-meter span was an emitter, from which a shoto-length crimson blade hissed to life; the opposite end had a weighted pommel.

Anakin tried to cut Vader down before he could bring the saberspear to bear, but Vader moved with astounding speed even for a Force-user.  He swung the shaft into the way of the blow; the metal stopped the blade cold, displaying a surprising amount of flexibility as it bent with the force of the attack.  Anakin had heard of this: phrik, a lightsaber-resistant, uncommonly light supermetal.  The saberstaff must have been made from a phrik alloy designed for suppleness.

Vader brought the weighted pommel of the spear around in a blazing-fast strike to Anakin’s jaw.  He went flying, feeling at least one tooth go.  Though he managed to land on his feet, it took him a moment to clear his head.  By the time Anakin regained enough focus to return his attention to Vader, the Sith was laying into Siri with the saberspear.  He forced her back with a dizzying array of stabs, the spear’s flexible shaft dancing in his grip like a striking ophidian.  Siri had no choice but to retreat, batting the unpredictable spearhead away with focused, careful Soresu deflections.

Hurling himself back into the battle, Anakin had to brake hard as his charge nearly impaled him on Vader’s saberspear.  The incredibly flexible weapon hurtled back and forth between Anakin and Siri at Vader’s command, holding both of them outside their effective striking range.  Siri flanked right, trying to get Vader to split his defense, but he responded by changing his grip: instead of grasping the bottom half of the spear and thrusting, Vader held it close to either end and whirled it about himself, using the blade and the pommel interchangeably in slashing and bludgeoning strikes with amazing centripetal power.  Even Anakin, attacking him with the full strength of Djem So, found himself held at bay and hard-pressed to keep his own lightsaber in his hands.

Vader deflected another one of Siri’s attacks with the pommel.  As the weapon spun around, bringing the blade up toward Anakin, Vader suddenly shifted his grip all the way down and sent the spear forward in an explosive upward thrust.  Anakin, in the middle of an overhand strike, was caught flat-footed.  He almost managed to reverse his move and slap the thrust aside, but he was too slow.  The blade slashed into his right shoulder.  Pain erupted behind his eyes and his lightsaber flew from his nerveless fingers.  He went down in a tangle of limbs.

“ANAKIN!” Siri shouted.  She fell on Vader, defenses abandoned, unleashing a flurry of acrobatic Ataru moves.  Leaping, rolling, somersaulting, she taxed his defense from every angle, but Vader kept up with her.  Anakin didn’t think he was even exerting himself that hard.

Then Siri came in with a flat thrust at Vader’s chest.  He sidestepped, brought his spear up under Siri’s blade.  He whirled his weapon, forcing Siri’s lightsaber to curve around in a half-circle through the air before slamming against the floor, trapped there by the phrik shaft.

The Sith did not leave it there long.  He snapped the shaft up into Siri’s open guard, smashing it into her chest.  As she staggered away, saber flailing up to guard her vitals, he dropped, spun, and slashed his blade through the tops of her thighs.

She crumpled like a stringless puppet.

Anakin could see Siri still had her legs, but she was unable to stand.  Vader rose smoothly back to his feet, a menacing, smug smile twisting his features.

_He didn’t even break a sweat,_ Anakin thought.  _None of us are making it out of here._

* * *

Venge leapt away from another engagement with Dooku, muscles on fire, breath rattling in his lungs.  The Sith Lord was more than twice his age and he was breathing hard as well, but he showed no signs of slowing, while Venge was having to draw heavily on the Force to keep himself in the fight.

He saw Siri go down.  Vader came back to his feet and turned to face him, flourishing his saberspear.

_I can’t fight Dooku and Vader at the same time._

It was a cold, uncomfortable truth, but there it was.  They were down two Jedi, Vader was probably even more dangerous than Dooku, and Venge was already struggling against the older man.  Their odds had just gone from terrible to impossible.

He glanced past Dooku at the entrance to the throne room, where Padmé and Dormé were shredding droids by the dozen in an attempt to keep them from being overrun.  It might not keep them safe, but he could probably muster the strength to Force push them out in to the hall, slam the doors, and then hold the Sith at bay long enough for them to get a decent head start, especially if Maul helped him.

“Concerned for your lover?” Dooku asked him.  “She is of no consequence to us, Venge.  Surrender now, and I promise you she shall be spared.”

Venge looked at Dooku, then turned to Plagueis.  “You would honor that?” he called.  “If Maul and I surrender to you, Padmé and Dormé can go?”

Plagueis steepled his fingers in front of his face.  “You would also have to turn over all your blackmail to me, and offer definitive proof that none remained outside my knowledge.  But I would gladly trade their lives for those of two Jedi and the security of the Sith.”

Across the room, Maul disengaged from Ghûl, saberstaff tracing glowing trails through the air.  He looked stonily at Venge.  “If we do this, there is no going back.  We will end up as slaves to the Sith.”

“But Padmé and Dormé can carry on,” Venge said.  “I trust Dooku and Plagueis to let them get off the planet.  They’re the sort who think keeping their word makes them a better class of scum.”

“What will it be?” Dooku cut into the conversation.  “Speak quickly or resume our duel, Venge.  This is the only mercy we will offer you.”

Padmé shouted up at them from the entrance.  “Venge, what about your oath?  You remember swearing to me you wouldn’t let them take you again, even if they used me as leverage?  _What are you doing right now?_ ”

That made Plagueis laugh hollowly.  “Well, Venge?  Will you keep your word, and make yourself a ‘better class of scum?’  Or will you preserve their lives, the life of the person most important to you, and become that which you were always meant to be?”

Venge stood there, torn.  His desire to see Padmé live, no matter what, was overwhelming.  This had to be what the Jedi meant by _no attachment._   He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.  Her safety was the most important thing to him.

But he’d made a promise to her.  She’d already said she couldn’t trust him, and he’d agreed that she shouldn’t – but could he truly break his oath on such casual grounds?  He had told her she made him want to be the sort of person she needed in her life, and if he couldn’t keep so simple a promise to her, he certainly didn’t think he qualified as that kind of person.

He just needed to open his mouth and say something.  The right words would come if he did that.

Venge took a breath to speak.

There was an enormous, overpowering gust of wind as a very familiar HWK-290 swept up from beneath the level of the throne room to hover on repulsorlifts just outside the walls, ramp extended.  Its underslung turret swiveled to aim squarely at Plagueis.  A moment later, a familiar voice boomed from the ship’s external speaker.

“Alright, you _dar’jetii chakaare._ This is Jango Fett.  I have to say your accommodations were awful, and I will not be choosing Geonosis for my next getaway.  I have also placed a very large bomb on the primary reactor core of the Spire.  You let the _jetii_ and their allies board my ship, and let us take off, and the bomb will remain disarmed.  You _don’t_ do that, or try to paralyze me again, and the bomb goes off. The reactor explodes, the entire Spire collapses in on itself, and we all die.

“You have five seconds.  Make your choice, _hut’uune._ ”

Venge locked gazes with Plagueis.

The Muun’s eyes were terrible to behold, even for him.  The Dark Side swirled in them, darker and colder than space.  He could feel the Muun’s anger from here, vaster than oceans, vaster than worlds. 

“Collect your injured and go,” Plagueis said.  His voice was rigidly controlled, but Venge could hear the deep and simmering rage beneath.  “And know that this is not over.”

From the floor of the throne room, Anakin cried, “No!  We’re not leaving without Qui-Gon!”

Maul stooped down and picked him up like he weighed nothing.  “We will see him again,” he reassured the younger man.  “And we will find a way to redeem him.”

“NO!” Anakin shouted.  Venge could feel him trying to focus the Force to push himself out of Maul’s grip, but his pain and his distress were making it impossible for him to focus.  “MASTER!  PLEASE!”

Ghûl said nothing, but merely watched, a faint smile on his lips, as Maul carried a protesting, crying Anakin to the ship.

Padmé and Dormé moved to Siri’s side.  Padmé gently lifted the Jedi into a fire-controller’s carry.  “Come on, Venge,” she said.  “We’ve lost this round.”

Venge moved toward the HWK-290.

“Next we meet,” Dooku said to his back, “there will be no Mandalorian to save you.”

Without replying, Venge strode up the ramp, leaving the Sith behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference for literally all of Vader's moves: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AeeoEpmyb2Y


	6. Back to the River

Venge lowered himself into the passenger’s chair in the cockpit of the HWK-290.  The motion presented some difficulty, as every part of him ached viciously.  Dooku’s Sith lightning had wreaked havoc on his body; he would probably need to spend time in bacta before he could get back to a hundred percent.

From the pilot’s seat, Jango looked over his shoulder and said, “You look _shabla_ terrible.”

“You don’t look so good, either,” Venge shot back.  The _Mando_ was pale, gaunt, and bruised.  “I take it you haven’t eaten in days.”

Jango gave a fractional shrug.  “Bug food doesn’t agree with me.  I’ll eat once we’re in hyperspace.”  He glanced over his shoulder again.  “How’s the young one?”

“Sedated,” Venge replied.  “He was not happy about leaving his Master behind.  Even if said Master is now a crazed Sith puppet.”

“I’m sorry things went down the way they did,” Jango said, professionally curt.  “That _hut’uun_ Damask, he’s got unbelievable power.  Never seen anyone do what he did to us.”

“He’s unique.”  Venge gritted his teeth.  “The most dangerous Sith ever.  Naga Sadow, Exar Kun, Darth Bane – none of them posed this kind of threat.  He could warp the entire galaxy to his will, given enough time.  And if what I heard about him from my former Master is true, he has all the time in the universe.”

Tilting his head, Jango asked, “Want to clue me in on Sith number three?  If Damask is a Sith, then Palpatine was either brain-twisted to put him in power, or he’s one too.”

With a grimace, Venge said, “He’s number three.  I owe you that answer for saving our lives.”

“ _Shab,_ ” Jango murmured.  “The Republic’s really gone _osik’la._   And we’ve been training an army for it while Dooku creates a huge Separatist droid force.  What are they planning?”

“A long and bitter enough war will result in emergency powers being voted to the Chancellors,” Venge said.  “Then they simply never give up those powers.”

“So that’s how the clone army is going to help destroy the _jetiise_ ,” Jango guessed.  “Once they have those powers they can unilaterally declare the Order to be an enemy of the Republic.  Run smear campaigns.  The _jetiise_ would never recover.”

Venge nodded slowly.  The Force told him that Jango had the right idea, but that they were missing something.

However, he couldn’t put his finger on _what,_ so he let the feeling go.  They would discover the truth of it all sooner or later.  For the moment, he just wanted to close his eyes.

The space outside the cockpit flared blue as Jango engaged the hyperdrive.  “Where are we going?” Venge asked.

“Kamino.  Gotta make sure my boy’s all right, and they’ve got extensive medical facilities for your wounded.”

Venge pursed his lips.  “Fair enough.  Tell me, though: how did you end up in this ship?  I left it on Coruscant.”

“Different HWK-290,” Jango told him with a shake of his head.  “Carefully done up to look like the one you came in to Kamino.  I think Damask was planning to send Jinn back in it with a sob story.”

That made Venge shiver.  “God thing that’s no longer on the table for them.”

“Good thing indeed.”  Jango stood.  “I’m going to eat now, assuming this _di’kutla_ ship has any supplies.  You might want to see to your allies.  With Jinn gone, I get the feeling you’re next in line for Head _Jetii_.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” Venge snapped automatically.

Jango merely exited the cockpit, making no reply.

* * *

Waiting for them on Kamino was a familiar green face.

“Treated, young Skywalker’s and Tachi’s injuries shall be,” Yoda said gravely after surveying the downtrodden lot.  Clone medics advanced from either side with repulsorlift-equipped bio beds, onto which Anakin and Siri carefully lowered themselves.  “Come with me, the rest of you will.”

Venge saw, in the corner of his eye, Jango bristle.  “I don’t take orders from _jetiise_ ,” the _Mando_ said.  “Particularly not the _di’kut_ who dispatched them to Galidraan.”

“Then a request, consider it,” Yoda told him.  “At this meeting will the rest of the _Cuy’val Dar_ be.”

That got Jango’s attention.  He crossed his arms and inclined his head.  “All right.”

“Master,” Maul spoke up as they entered the too-white halls of Tipoca City.  “The Sith have turned Qui-Gon.”

A look of deep pain crossed Yoda’s wizened features.  “Afraid of this, I was.  Great and terrible power in the Force, Plagueis possesses.  Safe from him, none of us are.”

“There’s more,” Padmé added, moving forward to walk alongside Yoda.  “Damask – Plagueis – has cloned Anakin.  He’s made a dark Chosen One named Vader.  He’s the one who hurt Anakin and Siri.”

“Grave news, this is,” Yoda confirmed.  “Make Vader here on Kamino, did he?”  Padmé nodded.  “Then no further proof do I require.  Action must we take to prevent the clone army from being used against us.”

Venge let the Jedi Grandmaster lead them deeper into the city, trying not to let the inescapable whiteness get on his nerves again.  He might be spending quite a bit of time here; it was best to acclimate sooner rather than later.  As he walked, Jango’s words from days before seemed to ring in his skull.  _With Jinn gone, I get the feeling you’re next in line for Head_ Jetii.

Except that he didn’t want to lead.  If it weren’t for his attachment to Padmé, he would have disappeared, vanished into the strata of the galactic underworld to seek his fortune on his own terms.  He was more than happy to let Yoda take command of the Conspiracy now that Qui-Gon had Fallen.

The Grandmaster led them to a huge, circular briefing hall, big enough to accommodate thousands of clone officers and the hundred _Cuy’val Dar_ training sergeants.  Yoda made his careful way down to the sunken center of the room, where he hopped onto the holoprojector.  “Be seated,” he called, voice echoing to every edge of the space.

Hesitantly, clearly having expected to remain standing at attention, the men sat.  Venge came to a halt adjacent to the holoprojector.  He picked out Skirata, Bralor, and Vau among the sergeants, giving them discreet nods.  They returned the gesture, which assured him they weren’t still looking to gut him.

He also noticed the blonde clone captain from his first visit.  The hair color looked good on him.

“Brief, I will be,” Yoda said, his voice filling the room.  “Classified, this briefing is.  To your squads relay it, but tell no one else.

“Commissioned by the Jedi you were, to defend the Republic.  Trained your entire lives, you have been, for this one goal.  But believe I now do that defend the Republic from within, this army cannot.  Command it from within the Republic, the Jedi cannot.  From the outside, the Republic must be defended.  Beholden to the corruption enshrouding Coruscant, we cannot be.”

Venge stared at Yoda.  Could he really be saying what it seemed?

“As of now, dissolved, the Ruusan Reformation is,” Yoda announced.  “From the Republic, the Jedi declare their independence.  Leave Coruscant, we will.  Take command of this army we commissioned, we shall.  To protect the Republic, we resolve.”

Unmitigated shock echoed through the huge room, but Venge felt Padmé’s most keenly.  She looked simultaneously terrified and elated.

“Called you here I have to ask of you a question,” Yoda continued.  “A simple question, it is, but vital: serve, will you?  Created for this purpose you may have been, but decide your destinies for you, I cannot.  Volunteers I request, not conscripts.  The unwilling, freedom to go, they will be given.  The willing, paid and provisioned and cared for will they be.  To your troops, take this question.  Today, for contemplation use.  Tomorrow your answers I will receive.”

He rapped his gimer stick in finality, then hopped down from the holoprojector.

Venge waited several long minutes while the troops filed out, including the _Cuy’val Dar_.  Jango also left, a pensive expression on his face.  As soon as the five of them were alone in the briefing room, he whirled on Yoda.  “Are you mad?” he hissed at him.  “The Sith will not take this lightly.  You are taking the entire Order rogue.  You’re handing them the propaganda weapon of a lifetime!”

“A different course, do you suggest?” Yoda asked.  “To destroy the Jedi, the enemy would use these men.  Released from their slavery to duty, serving as willing protectors outside Republic influence – used, this way they cannot be.  To anticipate your enemy, one of the fundamental tenets of war is.”  He grinned, showing disturbingly sharp teeth.  “Anticipate this, will _our_ enemy?”

Venge had to admit it.  Yoda had a point.

“The logistical problems are going to be immense,” Padmé said.  “I don’t know how much it costs to run an army of millions, as well as paying them on top of that, but –”

“Calculated it, I have.  A problem it will not be.”  Yoda’s grin did not falter.  “A long time the Order has had to accumulate wealth.  Run this army, its support vessels, its requisitions, its reinforcements – for five years without aid, all this we can do.”

Dormé made a vaguely dumbfounded noise.  “How much –”

“One hundred eighty-two quintillion credits, the Order has.  More, once all Republic holdings we sell.”

“You’re serious,” Venge breathed.  “You’re really going ahead with this.”

“Yes.”  Yoda studied Padmé.  “Safe you are no longer, Senator.  To move your family to a secure location, your permission do I have?”

She nodded.  “Yes.  Thank you.”

“And you, my young warrior?” Yoda asked Dormé.

She shook her head.  “No family.  But thank you.”

Up until this point, Maul had been silent; now he spoke a single word.  “Shmi?”

“On her way here, she already is,” Yoda soothed.  “Protected by Knights.”

“I’ll submit my formal resignation from the Senate,” Padmé said.  “After which – I think you need a chief diplomat if you’re going rogue, Master Yoda.  You’ll find my qualifications are more than adequate for the job.”

“Humbly do I accept your offer, Ambassador Amidala.”

Padmé finally cracked a smile.  “Then I’m honored to serve.”

“I am with you, milady,” Dormé said.  “To whatever end.”

Yoda turned to Venge.

“No,” Venge said.  “Whatever you’re about to ask, the answer is no.”

“On you and your leverage against the Sith, much depends,” Yoda told him, ignoring his statement.  “A Jedi you are not, and never will be.  But Sith, you are no longer.”  He drew his shoto, thumbing the blade to life.  “Kneel, Venge.”

“ _No._ ”

Padmé shoved him playfully in the back.  “Be nice.  We’re all on the same side here.”

Venge shot her his best glower, but dropped to one knee.  If he just played along, the little troll would let him go that much faster.

“Selfishness, the essence of the Dark Side is,” Yoda said, shoto held vertically in front of him.  “Here you are because for another you care.  Touch the Dark without succumbing, you can, because of that anchor.

“Throughout Jedi history, many specialized roles have there been.  Shadows.  Guardians.  Watchmen.  Consulars.  Sentinels.  But no role for a one like you has there ever been.  Falls to me to create one, it does.”  He gestured with his shoto, bringing it within a hair’s breadth of both of Venge’s shoulders.  “Justicar I name you, Venge.  Great evil you will hunt.  Much injustice you will put right.  Places where no Jedi can go, you will go.”  He deactivated his shoto, returned it to his belt.

“Rise,” Yoda said.  “Justicar Venge.”

Venge rose smoothly back to his feet.  “Justicar,” he said, tasting the title.

“I think he likes it,” Dormé said with a grin.

“Absolutely not,” Venge snapped.

He felt Maul’s glow of satisfaction in the Force and silently cursed himself.  A moment later the Zabrak said, “Lie,” and Yoda cackled.

“Someday I _will_ kill you.”

Maul made a show of considering that one.  “Not quite a lie.  Not yet.”

Ignoring him, Venge looked at Yoda.  “So.  What happens now?”

Yoda’s smile faded.  “Prepare we do,” he said.  “For war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of Calamities I! Coming up soon: "Kamino Interludes." Hope to see you there!


End file.
